In the Darkness Dwells
by Nea's world
Summary: A daughter returns to the land she calls home, stepping out of memory and shadows to do so, while cloaking herself in the disguise she created upon leaving. The oneshot that started With Invisible Chains.


This is the one-shot that got into my head about three years ago and started my attempt to write what became With Invisible Chains. I've polished it a bit, reordered some things so it fits with the story, but this is how it began.

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The King of Mirkwood entered his study, and noted at once there was someone within. He rested a hand on his sword but didn't yet call for a guard, moving cautiously around to better see the one sitting in a chair facing his desk, the caped back to him at the moment. A bared sword rested over the intruder's thighs, making his fingers tighten and begin to unsheathe his own sword.

"Peace, Thranduil," a soft voice murmured, halting the motion.

He noticed the long fingers were resting on the arms of the chair, well away from the blade, and took a moment more to study it… then swiftly released his tensions and moved to close the door. "I had begun to believe I would never lay eyes upon you again," he admitted, crossing to the chair closest to being across from his visitor. He contemplated the shadowed face for a long moment, his memory filling in the gaps. After a long moment of recalling what he knew of this being, and the inconsistencies he was seeing, he spoke. "There are easier ways to see me, you know."

"Oh, I know. But I have no desire to pick up where I left off. If you cannot accept that, I shall return to the wild."

"Sil—"

"Ashes. Or nothing, my lord."

He lifted a brow for the 'name', but chose not to comment… at least for the moment. "Remove your hood… Ashes."

Slowly a half-gloved hand reached up and pushed the black hood, revealing a face aged beyond his last memory. The soft curves of the innocent youth had been utterly spent, a stronger, almost harsh countenance in its place, the eyes he had seen absently sparkling for centuries now hard and wizened beyond years.

"Your life has been difficult."

A soft laugh wrapped him pleasantly, save for a faintly bitter edge that had never caught his ear before. Not from the one before him, at least. "I think it was easier than it would have been here, Thranduil."

"They why return?" he asked, not wishing to delve into the reasons for her sudden and wholly unexpected departure so many centuries ago.

Dark grey eyes sought the painting on the wall, and then the unfamiliarly tall, lithe frame stretched and pulled onto its feet with a hard-gained grace and stealth, crossing to that same painting he had considered nearly everyday for nearly two and a half thousand years. Rough fingers gently traced a strong jaw that had been inherited, trailed down to the sword now held lightly in her other hand. "Because… this is home." The fingers lifted to lightly brush some fairly short oily black hair behind a delicately pointed ear. "No matter how far I go, this is home."

"Well, dear one, if you wish to be known only by your traveling name, I would guess there are other things you wish to speak with me about."

She looked at him over her shoulder, and bowed her head shortly. "I do indeed, Thranduil. I have been far too active to settle into the life of the ladies here, and I know you would not willingly suffer me to live in the wood—if need be, I will, of course… or leave."

He inclined his head. "You have spent longer outside my command than you did within it. From the look of you, you spent little of it in another elven realm."

She laughed quietly, and shook her head sharply. "I have been many places, my lord, but I was not often seen."

He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "Then what do you ask of me, little Ashes? You seem to deny your father's place…"

"Indeed I do. I want naught to do with it."

"Ever?"

She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes softening for an instant before shuttering once more. "Once I looked forward to being beside you, beside Legolas and Elleri. No longer. All I wish is to be left quietly alone…"

"And?"

She swung her head sharply around, all of her hair stilling on her left shoulder so she could cleanly sheath her father's blade upon her back. Beneath the cloak he could see the edge of a quiver. "Thanks to these years away, I am quite a hunter. I _will_ hunt, given your leave or no."

He lifted a brow. "The Wood has grown dark."

"And I have hunted in darker places for centuries." Her voice was low, her eyes steady.

He found he fully believed her, though he would have laughed at anyone else asserting such—especially if it was the young female who had run away long ago. There was strength in her stance, confidence… and she was armed to the teeth—he could see signs of at least five blades upon her, and would expect more upon her back, along with the bow he had no doubt she carried. Somewhere. "Hunted darker creatures than rabbits and deer for food?"

She inclined her head shortly, her attention focused on a painting of his departed queen with the five children.

"You ask leave to continue that as well, I suppose."

"The one who left would not dream of it, Sire." She didn't break her study of the portrait.

"The one who left does not stand before me."

Ashes looked at him then, inclining her head slightly, a bit of short hair falling before her eye as she acknowledged him. "Very true."

With a deep, weary sigh he settled back into his chair, and looked her over once more. "You're more like him than you know, dear child."

A faint, mocking smile turned her lips. "I hardly feel a child these days, my lord."

"I don't wonder at it," he agreed. "You have aged, my girl. Very few will recognize you unless you change back to she who left."

A quick shake of the dark head was his immediate response. "I will _never_ go back," she assured darkly. "Why would I wish to? She was foolish, weak. I may yet be a fool, but I pray to the Valar that I have conquered any weakness that once was mine."

He narrowed his eyes slightly on her. "Si—Ashes," he corrected, watching her tense. "Weakness is not always a bad thing."

She smiled, and like her laughter there was the faintest touch of bitterness there. "Not always, no, Thranduil—I quite agree. I have a weakness for starry nights in long-grassed meadows. Rain showers in the warmth of Spring… yes, many weaknesses, old friend. But those which would let me be destroyed by blind folly I believe I have conquered."

"And so you return?" he asked quietly.

"Indeed I do."

"It took so long?"

Her eyes dropped for a moment, before casually lifting a shoulder. "No. But to be sure of it, of myself—that took time, my lord."

He sighed at the change of address. For a moment it had been familiar. Only a moment. "I do wish to hear some more of all this."

"In time, Thranduil. In time."

"Very well. But you are quite right—I will not have you living outside the halls. The Wood grows too dark for me to be comfortable encouraging any to do so."

She nodded slightly. "Then I shall be reacquainting myself with the halls, as I have your permission."

"You wish to join the guard?"

She lifted a brow. "I thought we had that covered."

Thranduil smiled, looking from the she-elf before him to the tall figure in the painting beside her. "It is very good to have you back," he murmured as she left. _My friend_.


End file.
